You're Fine, But I'm Not At All
by Thegirlwhoneverforgot
Summary: Pre-series. Dean runs into a djinn at a diner and it has very differant intentions. A girl named Faith helps Dean reach Sam. Can Dean make it to him in time?Major Dean Whump!rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Amnesia

 **This is another Dean Whump short. Because it isn't Johnny Cash, it gets to be its own story. And from my consistency, you should already know by now that the title of the story is the title of a song I'm using. It's 5sos! Hehehaha! Yay! *ahem*. Anyway. Enjoy. I do not own Supernatural. Oh, Pre-series.**

Dean was down in California, heading to Stanford. It took much thought if he was going to do this but, after fruitless effort of trying to find his dad, he knew that he needed help. He knew he needed some personal help. But of course, you can only get help, if you suffer first. Dean was just about to see that. Again. For the millionth time in his life.

He was in the foothills of California. Mining territory. Of course, lots of ghosts to be sure. As he passed through Grass Valley, he found he was driving past Empire Mine. If he remembered correctly, he didn't have a good history with mines. They just, got picky with him.

He laughed out loud at the pun he made inside his head. He grew wide eyed at how used to being by himself he was. Mines or not, he was hungry, and he pulled into the local diner. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed inside, looking around him at all the mining junk that lay rusty, untouched and deemed "Beautiful History".

Inside, he sat down in a booth in the far back of the diner. Hunter's casualty. He watched people walk in and out of the door as he waited for his coffee. Then he noticed one man walk in. He seemed too… casual. Relaxed. In Dean's monster language it was _all-these-people-are-unsuspecting-they're-all-going-down._ Dean was on high alert as it sat down in the booth in front of him, back to Dean. He noticed the faint lines of blue hidden under the hair of the thing's head. Dammit.

 _Djinn._ His heart-beat picked up just a bit. He hated them. He casually accepted the coffee the hot-but-unnoticed waitress offered. Dean contemplated on what he was to do. He couldn't walk out and grab his weapon's bag. He had a gun and knife hidden in his jacket but he didn't want to scare anyone. Also, there were people here. Innocent people. And, he didn't want to get caught by cops. Beautiful setup djinn, beautiful set up. Then, something unexpected happened. Obviously. The djinn got up, picking up its coffee and turned around, sitting down in Dean's booth.

 _Screwed._

"Hello, Dean," it mocked in a smooth man's voice.

"I suggest you get out of here before I chop your head off," he snipped. The djinn laughed just a little, a slight echo in its voice.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone, unless if you get in my way," it drawled. Dean with- held the curses that wished to flow freely to the other's ears. He gripped the knife, holding it against his inner thigh. The cool steel of the blade was felt through the denim of his jeans. What was this djinn planning on doing? "Besides," it continued, turning in the booth, preparing to get out, "You're just going to be another victim, aren't you?" It casually pulled out a revolver and took aim at the waitress, making her rounds. Dean reacted, lunging over the table, spilling hot coffee, and knocking the gun out of the djinn's hand as the gun went off. The monster pushed Dean to the floor who crashed through rows of table and chairs, then crashed into another booth. Bruises, scrapes and maybe even a few broken ribs made themselves known as he sat up, blinking spots out of his eyes. The waitress was on the floor next to him, motionless. His heart caught in his throat when he thought she was dead but realized she was okay when she moved save a knock in the head. Dean looked up at the djinn who was walking towards him, calmly, even though everyone was screaming. The djinn cocked the gun. "I told you to not get in the way." It took aim.

Dean grabbed the girl's hand and they quickly skirted past the djinn, just a shot ricocheted off of the table that they were just up against. There were fewer screams in the bar which probably meant the idiots finally found the door. More pings and gunshots indicated the djinn was still shooting at Dean and the waitress. This was the strangest behavior of a djinn. They were usually quiet, calm, collected, and just about NEVER showed themselves in the daylight. Plus, they don't talk. Why was this thing talking?! They stumbled into the kitchen, the smell of something burning from being left unattended.

"How many exits are there?" Dean asked quickly, turning to the shaking girl. Tears were running down here face but she took a deep breath and spoke quickly.

"There's the front door, a door next to the bathroom's out there, and one in the pantry area," she quaked. Dean nodded, grabbed her hand and started for the door when a gunshot pinged off the pan right in front of him. Dean stopped, pulled the girl behind her and glared at the djinn. The djinn had its too calm, too evil grin on its face that made Dean wish he had something to melt it off. And he really meant to melt it off. He lost his knife in his little bowling round with the tables and chairs. Dean still had his gun but one slight move and he knew his brains would become part of the bleak kitchen walls behind him and that was probably not in the food health and safety code.

The djinn walked forward, playing around with his gun, Dean shifted little by little towards the door with the girl behind him. There was just enough space to the open door that if they darted, they could get through. Dean held three fingers behind his back and counted down. _3-2-1…_

The girl took off towards the door, Dean followed her, still a body shield and slipped through the door. He pulled out his gun and turned to shoot when there was a loud shot that rung in his ears. Pain pierced his collarbone – an inaccurate shot to the heart. Thank goodness but damn (and many curses) did it hurt. Dean's own shot merely hit the thing's shooting hand, so no more guns, but it wasn't dead. He wouldn't rest until it was dead. He vaguely heard his name being called behind him. The pantry was honestly a garage. There were shelves lined with food and crates filled with produce and the garage doors were wide open. He turned to see the waitress pointing up to a lift. Still holding up a huge crate of something heavy. He ran, stumbling a bit into the machine's cabin and waited. He waved the girl to go hide, which she promptly did. The djinn came out of the kitchen door, clutching its hand. He came walking towards the lift, looking around for anyone to use as something people wish not to know. It stumbled a bit underneath the lift. Dean slammed a button and pushed forward several handles and the huge crate fell. The djinn, blood loss-fatigued, stared at the box as it fell on top of him.

And that was it for djinn. Dean stumbled out of the cabin, breathing hard, clutching his collar. He could feel his hand was slippery and wet, but of course he had priorities. The waitress come out of hiding and ran up to him. She gasped at the sight of blood but Dean raised his hand to calm her.

"It's a graze," he lied. "I can have it fixed up in no time, but I'm not going to stay behind for the cops. Do you think you can tell the cops what happened? Minus me?" The waitress nodded. "Thank you," Dean sighed.

"Thank you," she returned.

"The… forklift was a great idea. I'm grateful of you." She smiled.

"I have a friend who's a doctor. You could drop by and I'll tell him you're coming," she offered. Dean smiled to show his gratitude.

"That's okay, but I have a brother who's trained in the medical field," he said. "I was on my way to visit him, but thanks anyway." She nodded. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

"You better leave," she said, "I can't thank you enough."

"You already have!" he added walking out. He rounded the diner and stumbled to his car, trying to reach it as quickly as possible. He sagged into the seat and closed the door, and pulled out of the diner.

* * *

He drove for half an hour, his collar was throbbing, and his eyes were heavy. Blood loss. He pulled into a truck stop with bathrooms, grabbed his med kit from the trunk and trudged inside. He took the family bathroom where it was private while he worked. He leaned against the sink, breathing heavy, his bloody hands slipped on the sink. Dean looked at himself in the mirror and was shocked to see his pale complexion. He ripped open his shirt and the medical kit. He took towel and cleaned his hands and the wound, wiping away the blood the best he could. The blood wouldn't stop. Dean cursed, because it was bleeding this bad with the bullet inside, it would get worse with it out. Dean pulled out the pre-sterilized tweezers. He took his shirt into his teeth for good measure. He took a deep breath and was about to begin when there was a knock on the door. Dean sighed, "I'm gonna be a minute," he gruffed, and turned back to the job.

"I don't think it takes just a minute to remove a bullet," a voice said from behind the door. Dean's breath caught in his through. He pulled on his shirt and opened the door. The waitress from the diner stood with a bag. She was still in her waitress clothes but she had an over coat and tennis shoes.

"You?"

"Are you going to let me in?" she asked. Dean raised a brow.

"In the bathroom?" he teased, but then seriously added, "I don't even know your name. I said thanks for earlier, do you want a tip?"

"It's Faith," she said. "And i came to help you."

"You expressed that earlier just fine," he said. "Now go home and let a man do his business in peace. I've got this."

"It's not like you were using it for your intended purpose," she said, "You look like hell. I'd like to help. We don't want you bleeding out on the floor." Dean sighed and let her in. She glanced at the med kit on the sink and ignored the bloody hand print next to it. "Let me see," she instructed. Dean sighed and pulled off his shirt. He sat down on the toilet seat she beckoned him too. She grabbed a latex glove from her bag and pulled it on. Dean raised a brow.

"So, how did you find me?" he asked, wincing as she started prodding.

"I kind of knew you weren't going to be able to get help in a while. And if you were going to visit your brother you probably weren't going to stop at the diner. I figured you were going to try and fix it yourself when you were further from the cops… which I took care of. I gave them my statement then asked to leave. I watched which way your car turned and then I headed in that direction. I stopped by my house to grab a few things then I kept on the road till I spotted your car here of all places."

"That's," he grunted as she touched another soft spot, "Impressive." She grabbed several paper towels and got them wet with a bottle of vodka she pulled out of her bag. Dean laughed a little, stopping as his ribs protested in strain.

"I was short on time," she muttered. He shook his head.

"It' okay, that's my most trusted anti-sceptic I own," he muttered. She wetted the paper towels with the drink then set the bottle down.

"This is really going to sting," she said with a worry brow. Dean shrugged with his good shoulder.

"Shoot," he said, but took a deep breath. She seemed to prepare herself a bit too because of her hesitation but she started to quickly wipe the blood away in short, few swiped. The alcohol burned and Dean gritted his teeth, grunting a little as one felt a little too deep. She was quickly done, and took a close look at the wound.

"This isn't a graze," she said, "It's still bleeding. So the bullet is still in, but if we get it out quicker and give it a few stitches then it'll stop. But it might be easier to cauterize the wound." Dean winced at the thought. Once upon a time he had to have a wound cauterized once. He never wanted that to happen again.

"Let's just work with the next step," he said a bit breathlessly. Faith took notice and prodded at some of the bruises that littered Dean's torso. He gasped, as she came across a black and blue one. She prodded again. This time he cried out a little, slightly breathless.

"This one's broken," she confirmed. "Do you want me to set it now? It should help." Dean swallowed, feeling a chill down his spine.

"Do it," he grunted. Faith was quick when she did. Half a cry of pain escaped him but he bit down on the rest. All that came out was a low growl with heavy breathing. He was starting to sweat.

"Better?" she asked.

"Peachy," he managed.

She then grabbed tweezers from his med kit and poured some alcohol over it for good measure. She placed her hand on his back, he looked up at her seeing an answer but she didn't give him a verbal reply. She began, and immediately, Dean was in strain. He didn't shy away from her, but he felt her hand firm on his back and he understood, even through the pain. He let out a pained groan/gasp as she drew out the bullet. Dean's senses dimmed just a bit. There was a soft plink in the sink, and then more of the burning pain as she wiped up more blood. At this point, the he didn't even feel the stitches. He then felt a cool cloth being dabbed on his forehead and shoulder.

"Dean." The voice sounded far away. "Dean, wake up. Open your eyes, please." Open his eyes? They were open. No they weren't everything was dark. He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids open and he was looking at Faith. She had a concern expression on her face. He took a deep breath and lifted his head off the wall. He blinked the spots out of his eyes.

"I think I'm good," he muttered. Faith actually laughed.

"No you're not," she said. "After the stitches, you passed out. You've lost too much blood; I'm really tempted to take you to a hospital." Dean's reaction was slow. He knew that, because he hesitated for a minute.

"No hospital," he muttered. Faith laughed again.

"Wow, have you ever been this stubborn with your brother?" she questioned, not really seeking an answer. Dean leaned forward, head in his hands, trying to shake the nausea and the dizziness. She knelt down.

"Hey," she said softly, "I'll get you to a motel. I'll call my doctor friend to see if maybe he could spare a pint of blood, but you need to cooperate, okay?" Dean sighed, and grunted as his silent agreement. She stood up.

"Okay," she said, pulling out her phone, "All I need is your blood type."

Faith had to go outside to make her call because it was the only place with reception. When she came back, Dean had his shirt on and his jacket and was closing up the med kit. She could see fresh sweat on his forehead and he knew he had a struggle with the clothing.

"You should ask for more help," she scolded, picking up her own bag. Dean gave a charming smile despite his weariness and pain.

"I AM a big boy," he countered weakly. She sighed and they walked out. She steered Dean towards her car but she hear him utter a complaint about not riding in his "baby".

"The motel is two miles from here. I'll just drop you off here when you're feeling better," she said. She then considered a change of clothes for him. He was still wearing his blood/coffee/dirt/food stained clothes from earlier today. She demanded the keys from Dean who gave them up with slight hesitation. She turned to the black 67 Impala. She got into the back and pulled out the only duffle there was and set it in the back of her small Sudan. Dean had helped himself into the passenger seat and had his head back, eyes closed. She tapped on his face. "Stay awake," she said, "I don't have hospital equipment, and I won't be able to tell if your heart stops or something."

"You'll know I'm dead when I'm not flirting and making smart-ass remarks," he remarked. She smiled, and closed the door. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the motel, keeping a cautious eye on Dean the whole way there. She couldn't help but think of the other gun she found under the driver's seat and several old books of cult history and weird magic stuff like that. She knew Dean saved her life today, but was he a dangerous guy too?

"Hey, Dean," she asked, trying to keep him awake and get some answer. A low grunt was a reply indicating he was listening. "I couldn't help but notice you're also pretty trained in the medic field and you know how to wield weapons very well. Were you a soldier?" There was silence for a moment then an answer.

"Was raised by an ex-marine," he said. Faith nodded to herself.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"My dad," he replied.

"I was raised by my dad," she commented, "But he was a soldier through and through, died in Iran. He trained me and my brother everything about first aid and maybe a few things in holding a gun. He was kinda drilling us all the time so that we could be prepared in any situation. I really wasn't that prepared today."

"Funny how dads can be that way," Dean muttered. Faith nudged him.

"Stay awake, buddy," she said, "We're almost there."

"Keep talking," Dean asked. Almost like there was a silent plea.

"Only if you will," she said.

"Kay."

"So what do you do for a living?" she asked.

"Travel, work car jobs," he said. "Been doing it with my dad. Little-brother left family business for college. Defiant little snot, but I'm proud of him." Faith smiled.

"I was the defiant one too," She said, "Dad wanted me to continue family business of medics, but I wanted a smaller life."

"What about your mom?" he asked. Faith sighed.

"She died when I was seven," he said, "We were on a hiking trip together when she fell and hit her head. No one was medically equipped enough to help her and she died before help could arrive. I think that's the reason Dad became a medic soldier. So he could help people when he couldn't help his own wife." Dean snorted next to her, coughed a little but recovered.

"Near same life story," he commented. "Mom died when I was four. My brother was only a baby. Died in a house fire."

"Then why would he start fixing cars?" she asked.

"He likes cars, but he took on side jobs. Hobbies. He likes to hunt," he said. Faith nodded. Hunt things. She remembered how that man at the diner had faint lines all over him, in his eyes.

"That man at the diner…" she said, "He didn't really seem like a man." Dean opened his eyes to look at her.

"What did he look like to you?" he asked. Faith pulled into the parking lot of the motel.

"I don't know," she said, "I think I was just scared. Wait here; I'll go get a room." She left the car without another word. It was a weird question for Dean to ask. People would probably think she was crazy, but he was actually listening, interested. She walked in a requested a room. She thought about the books, and weapons she found in his car too. She started to think that fixing cars was just a side job and not the family business…

The clerk dropped a room key on the counter for her. She picked it up, and nodded thanks. She walked out again and grabbed the duffle from the back. Dean pulled himself from the car and leaned against it, waiting for her to lock it. They made their way to room 8 which wasn't far. She opened the room and they filtered inside. She plopped his duffle on the nearest twin bed. She sighed. "Okay, I'm to grab my bag that I packed just in case for a situation like this." Dean watched her and nodded.

"Do you think it's okay if I took a shower?" he asked. Faith thought a moment.

"I guess so. Will you need help with your bandages?" she asked. Dean shook his head, pulling out some fresh clothes from his bag.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, then made his way to the bathroom. "Faith?" She stopped just before the door.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything," he said with not a flirtatious smile, but a grateful, warm and kind smile. She smiled back and he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Faith went out to her car and grabbed her bag just as her phone rang.

"Bear," she breathed. "Barry, you know how there was an attempted robbery at the diner today? Well, this man stopped the robber but the thing was is that I don't think the robber was a guy. He seemed different. And, when I was telling Dean about it. Well, he suddenly seemed interested. It's like he knew the guy wasn't… human." Barry was silent for a couple minutes.

"Come again?"

"See!" Faith exclaimed, "That's what I thought Dean would say but instead it was, 'What do you think you saw?' and I was shocked. The thing is, when I was grabbing his bag from his car, there were these books about cult history and some of them look really old. There was also a strange symbol underneath the seat which I found along with another gun, and a knife. To keep him awake I asked him about his history and he said that he ran a family business with his dad by fixing cars. Traveling everywhere to fix cars. But he said his dad started doing that because his wife had died in a house fire. I thought that was odd since our family…"

"Became medics when mom died," Barry finished. Faith nodded. Barry sighed. "I'll tell you how to help him, but if he seems dangerous you run," he said. Faith agreed. She still trusted Dean, but he was a really hard puzzle and she didn't like walking into situations blind.

Dean was tired. Exhausted. And in a lot of pain. The hot shower was nice, but now he was more tired than when he stepped in. He was careful to not get his wound get wet but he wanted to be in and out. Even though he could trust Faith, he was still a hunter, and he was always on guard.

He stepped out, dried off and had wrapped his collar and shoulder with more gauze and bandages before getting dressing in a grey t-shirt and black sweats. He pat his face dry and wiped away the fog on the mirror so he could see himself. He looked sick. His eyes were bloodshot. His complexion pale even though he was in a hot shower and he was sweating. The pain lines were evident on his face. He'd have to sneak some while Faith wasn't watching. Speaking of Faith…

He stepped out of the bathroom to see Faith talking on the phone with someone. Dean froze, straightening a little, pulling on his defense. Faith ended her phone call and looked up at him. "That was my younger brother, Barry," she said. "He gave me the blood bag and told me how to help." He relaxed just a little and trudged over to his bed and put his dirty clothes inside. He sat down on the bed.

"Okay," he said tiredly. Faith grabbed her small bag and set it on the other bed. "You're going to have to lie down," she instructed. Dean complied, got up and moved to the head of the bed. He used the pillows to prop himself up, so he was mostly sitting up but still lying down. Faith set up a small I.V pole next to the bed and hung up an IV bag and a blood bag. Dean was soon hooked up to both. Then he saw her about to insert something into his I.V.

"Hold on, what is that?" Dean asked.

"It's just some mild painkillers, Tramadol," she said, "It's not going to make you drowsy but it'll still help with the pain, just a little." Dean nodded and let her continue.

Faith checked Dean's pulse which was surprisingly very slow. He closed his eyes. He could feel Faith's eyes on him. "Dean, there was something about that man today," Faith began. "He… He seemed to glow blue." He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"He wasn't a man," he said darkly.

"That's what I thought," she said miserably.

"It was a creature called djinn," he added. "Although it doesn't ever act the way it did today." Faith nodded.

"How do you know so much?" she asked. Dean sighed.

"Fixing cars is only a hobby of mine," he said, "I'm actually a hunter. That's… that's the family business. That's what my dad started doing when mom died. We hunt the supernatural. That's why my brother left for Stanford." Faith nodded, taking it in surprisingly well. Dean was about to say something when he took a sharp gasp. Faith stood and felt his pulse. It was beating faster but it was still too weak. Dean took deep breaths, eyes closed. He groaned. "What…"

"Don't speak," she said, "Your body's in shock." Dean took a shaky breath, and let it out with a short laugh.

"I'm not scared," he said, though voice shaky. Faith tusked in disapproval.

"I need to watch you," she said, "You could have a stroke while in shock." She pulled the blankets up over him who was doing his best to control a shiver, the pain and several curses. Faith thought it looked like a miserable sight. "Do you want me to call your brother?" she asked.

"No," came the short reply. This shocked Faith.

"Well if you're going to see him…"

"He isn't expecting me," he said, gasping at a sudden flare of pain in his torso. Faith was shocked at his answer but she checked Dean's collar. There was no inflammation and it was doing surprisingly well. She then checked the bruises on his torso, when she prodded the broken rib, she was greeted with a flinch and a groan.

"I'm going to wrap this," she said. "It'll have to be tight so that it doesn't move. Can you sit up?" Dean nodded and pulled himself up with another body shuddering groan. Faith pulled more bandages from her kit and started wrapping.

"So why doesn't he know you're coming?" she asked. Dean winced as she worked.

"Cause I haven't called him. And I know he won't be able to hang up on me if I was there in person," he said. Faith stopped for a minute.

"You don't have the best relationship?" Dean laughed a little.

"I raised the kid," he said, "But he doesn't want to speak to me because he doesn't want his past life interfering with his present one or his future. I see that he is so much more happy but I need help. He's all I got."

"Why do you need his help?" she asked. Dean was silent.

"Dad's missing."Faith understood. Dean was like glue in his family. It was all falling apart. He felt responsible. _Oh._

"Oh."

"I need him. I just don't think he needs me." Faith gave a hard tug on Dean's bandages that made him yell a little.

"Faith!" he exclaimed.

"Dean!" she shot back. "When you're a family, you're always going to need the other. He should see that too. Because we're not always fine. I'm guessing you're not fine at all. I can tell you that when my dad died, no one was fine. And my brother and I needed each other. It's okay to need help," Dean watched her with awe. He had sure gotten an earful but he understood every word. Faith finished the bandages and helped Dean lie down again.

"I've never been fine," he admitted quietly.

"It's okay," she said, sitting on his bed, next to him. She stroked the short hair off his face and wiped the sweat that was still there. She felt his pulse which was still slow, but gradually getting stronger. Dean was soon asleep despite any skill he had ever learned from his dad. Despite how strong of a person he was supposed to be. He wasn't one at the moment and he knew he could share that with Faith.

The night grew quiet as the eldest Winchester broke into unknown peace in the midst of his pain.

 _Drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted. Even though your friends tell me you're doing fine. Sometimes I start to wonder was it just a lie. If what we had was real, how could you be fine? Cause I'm not fine at all. I remember the day you told me you were leaving. And the dreams you left behind you didn't need them. Like every single wish we ever made. I wish that I could wake up with amnesia, and forget about the stupid little things. Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you. And the memories I never can escape. Cause I'm not fine at all._

 **I'm going to make this into two parts cause this is getting really long! So the lyrics to this song is actually a break up song between a bf/gf so I actually pulled out some lines and I left in the lines that made sense to Dean's angst. So this is not a gay fic, don't get any ideas just brothers that have gone separate ways.**

 **PEACE!**


	2. Chapter 2

Amnesia Part 2

 **This is part 2 everyone! Considering a new name since everyone uses this as title. I don't own Supernatural.**

Dean awoke the next day exhausted and sore. It felt like there were fresh bruises, but he couldn't tell. He looked up at the IV line to see the blood bag was only half empty, and the IV was completely full. He sat up; his aching pains taking a heavy toll on him. He rubbed his face so he could hopefully wake up more when the door opened. He groped for the knife under his pillow when he found nothing there and turned to see Faith come in with a paper bag. Dean relaxed.

"About time you woke up," she said, setting the bag down. "You hungry?"

"Starving," he admitted.

"Let me check your IV bag first," she said as she came to the side of the bed to inspect the bags then Dean.

"Did the IV and blood work?" Dean asked.

"Very well, but it wasn't enough," she said. "I replaced it when I woke up this morning. Your pulse was still weak." She helped Dean get his shirt off then she checked his shoulder which was doing well. She then checked his ribs, they were fine, even though he was covered in black, green, and blue bruises.

"So I lost more than a pint of blood?" he asked. She nodded.

"Are you still feeling dizzy?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Just like I've been hit by a truck, again," he muttered. Faith checked his pulse. Getting stronger, almost normal, but still slow.

"I don't think I even want to hear that story," she said walking over to the grocery bag. She pulled out some food. "I didn't know what you would want but you seem like the burger type. Do you want one?" Dean stood and walked over, dragging the Iv pole with him.

"Yes please," he accepted the burger gratefully and they ate. "When did you fall asleep last night?" he asked. Faith was quiet for a moment.

"Once… once you were stable," she replied, taking another bite of her food. Dean looked at her, shocked.

"What?"

"You heart stopped last night, it got so slow. I took shots from the blood bag so that it could get into your blood stream faster but I had to do compressions." Dean was in shock. They sat in silence for a minute.

"Sorry you had to go through that," he said quietly. Faith smiled warmly.

"It's not me I'm worried about, I broke another rib of yours," she said. They laughed a little, and then fell quiet as they ate. "When you visit your brother, you better tell him you're not okay," she said. Dean smiled.

"Yeah, I'm not going to be able to hide my aches and pains," he said, finishing his food.

"No, I mean how you feel," she said, "How you were affected after all that." She made a big gesture. Dean laughed a little. "Please?"

"Okay," he said, "I guess I can do something to pay for you helping me." She smiled a bit.

"I hope to be hitting the road," Dean said throwing his trash away, "At this rate, if I leave anytime within the next couple hours, I'll still get there tonight." Faith nodded. She cleaned up the rest of what was on the table. She looked up at the IV pole, checking the rate of the blood bag and the IV bag.

"Well," she said, "There's just a little less than an ounce of blood left so at least let that finish. Then we can hit the road." Dean nodded. He stood up and trudged over to his duffle, pulling out a pair of jeans. He grabbed the IV pole that seemed like a sudden burden to him and he made his way to the bathroom to change.

An hour later, Dean was off the IV. The bags were in the car and Faith checked out of the room. The ride back to the Impala was short but quiet. When they pulled into the lot and parked next to the car they sat in silence for a minute. Dean turned to Faith.

"Thank you," he said, "I owe you." She shook her head.

"No you don't," she said, "You saved mine and I save yours. Clean slate." Dean smiled and they got out of the car. He put his bag back into his car and turned to Faith. He handed her a piece of paper with a number on it.

"If you ever need me, just call," he said. "That's my, very… personal phone. Only a few people have it so, I'm always going to answer." Faith nodded.

"I could say thanks…" she said. He shrugged, wincing a little.

"Yeah I could too," he muttered.

"But we've kind of already done that and so this is good-bye," she said. Dean smiled and gave her a small hug. He got in the car and started the engine.

"It's not good-bye," he said. "I'll see you around." She smiled and he smiled back and he drove away. Faith sighed. She was always going to keep her med kit better stocked now.

Dean drove for hours. He felt better and was started to feel excited. He was finally going to see his brother. He remembered what Faith had said. It was okay to not be okay. He would hang on to that, for her. He owed her that. Even though she said clean slate, when you are saved one time you owe them the rest of your life, and that goes both ways. Dean smiled. The things he can learn from a robbery at a diner.

A Couple Months Later….

A phone started to ring. Sam and Dean were at a gas station filling up when Sam found the phone. Dean was inside. It was obviously a very private cell because it was in Dean's jean coat pocket packed away in his bag. Sam read the caller I.D: _Faith._ Sam furrowed his brow and answered.

"Hello?"

"Dean?" a woman asked. "Is that you?" Sam grinned to himself. Must be another girl Dean hooked up with.

"No this is his brother."

"Sam?" she asked. Sam flinched. How did she know his name? "Did something happen to Dean?"

"N-no. He's in a gas station grabbing some stuff. He's okay. Uh, how did you get this number?"

"He gave it to me a couple months ago. Told me to call him if there was anything… supernatural going on." Sam was gaping. Not only does this girl have Dean's private cell and know Sam by name, but she also know what Dean does? That was some night they must have had.

"Well that's what we're here for," he said. "Uh, how did you meet Dean?"

"He… Stopped a robbery at a diner. Got shot. I helped him," she said. "Learned a lot. He told me he was on his way to see you. Told me he really wasn't fine and he needed help. He told you he wasn't fine right?" Sam looked in through the window of the gas station. Dean was injured when he showed up at Stanford?

"Yeah," Sam lied, "He told me everything." Faith sighed.

"Okay, good," she said, "But you see, I have a little problem here… Do ghosts exist?"

"Top of our to do," Sam replied. Faith laughed.

"Okay," she said, "Then you might want to check this out. See you soon."

"Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Dean knows," she said , then she hung up. Sam stared at the phone. He tossed it to Dean who walked out of the store.

"Dude!" Dean grumbled. "What the hell!"

"I should say the same!" Sam argued.

"What do you mean?! You're the one who chucked MY phone. My PRIVATE phone at me WHILE I was carrying HOT coffee!"

"You never told me you weren't okay, Dean," Sam said. Dean was now confused. He handed Dean a cup and they stood on opposite sides of the car.

"What?"

"You never told me you were recovering from a bullet wound when you showed up on my doorstep in Stanford, Dean!" His eyes grew wide.

"How did you know that?!" Dean demanded. Sam pointed to Dean's phone.

"Faith." Dean looked at the phone.

"You were TALKING to someone on my PHONE? What did she say? What did she need?" He was becoming frantic and Sam was astonished.

"She asked if we could check out a ghost," he said. "Where is she?"

"Grass Valley, California," he replied getting in the car. Sam followed.

"You were shot?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "A robbery?" Something clicked in Sam's mind. "I heard it over the radio earlier that day," he recalled. "The robber was squashed by a large crate of canned food."

"A djinn," Dean corrected. Sam stared.

"I can't believe you Dean," Sam sighed.

"Well believe it, Sam," Dean snapped. "Truth be told, I've never been okay. I hated the fact that you left. I waited for so long until I could wait no longer to seek your help, and I'm sorry. Your future's ruined. It's why I never told you my problems, Sam. Because you have your own." Sam was silent.

"Now the slate's clean," Dean muttered, and pulled out of the gas station. But Sam didn't know what he meant. Dean was Dean. There were things Sam was never going to know.

 _The pictures that you sent me, they're still living in my phone. I'll admit I'd like to see you. I'll admit I'll feel alone. And though my friends keep asking why I'm not around. It hurts to know you're happy and it hurts that you moved on. It's hard to hear your name when I haven't seen you in so long. I wish that I could wake up with amnesia and forget about the stupid little things like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you. And the memories I never can escape. Cause I'm not fine at all._

 **That's all people! Please R &R. Moral support appreciated. **

**thegirlwhoneverforgot**


End file.
